


Escapement

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-11
Updated: 2014-11-20
Packaged: 2018-02-25 00:16:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2601572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for a kinkmeme prompt (please check the note at the end of the chapter for the link to the page): Mycroft is an omega and ends up bonded to someone unexpected(in this story, Magunessen). He stays bonded unhappily while keeping up the façade that he is okay with it. Only Sherlock and Lestrade manage to see through his act. Set in Omega verse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Incident

**1**

 

The heat comes on unexpectedly, which reminds Mycroft of his own first heat all those years ago, caught off guard while he was out about in the school library on a hunt for a copy of _War and Peace_ that Sherlock managed to bury in the garden, right next to the roses Mummy so adored and spent so much time to take care of, just to spite him. He is, this time, in the middle of a rather important and difficult negotiation with state heads that he has spent countless nights during the past month to organize, and the moment it hits him, all he can think is, it is totally ruined, much like the red and yellow roses in their garden Mummy eventually gave up on between Sherlock's interfering and experiments. And the next thought hits him as hard as the first, familiar yet so alien sensation of a impending heat, that he is in a room full of _alphas_. He calculates his chances of escaping the room safely and comes up with a devastatingly low number. He gives a careful glance in Andrea's way and she instantly feels something is amiss, but poor her, she's only a beta and does not smell the pheromones he's starting to give off, obvious to the rest of the participants of the meeting in the room. There is only a thick, and uncomfortable silence left now, the urgent discussions and arguments left forgotten.

Andrea then suddenly _grabs_ his arm urgently and pulls his body off the plush chair. A growl comes out of nowhere, and he is glad that his back is now turned against them, the alphas; and a strong pair of hands, Andrea's, keeps insistently pushing him forwards in the direction of the door. His legs, uncoordinated as they are, carry him nonetheless in the right direction until another strong hand, definitely not Andrea's this time, grabs hold of his wrist and makes him turn around to face a pair of hungry eyes.

 _Magnussen_. He instantly recognises whom those eyes belong to, and he recoils from the sudden, open display of lust and hunger that he staggers back a few steps until he hits the wall and Andrea is helplessly tugging his arm while her hand is working on her phone.

"You are an omega, hmmm...what a surprise _, Mr Holmes_."

His tongue darts out and wets his lip while his eyes take him in contemplating. He’s calculating quickly about what he could possibly gain and lose from forming a bond with Mycroft if he chooses to and from the satisfied look on his open face, Mycroft can tell what conclusion he has come to now, and there is no stopping to it.

Trying to apply logic to a situation such as this does not work, no, even such a cunning man like Magnussen is certainly not immune to chemical pulls from an unbonded omega. In his peripheral view, he can see now more of them are circling around him and Magnussen just as helplessly.

But the first-come, first-served rule still applies; even their brains are addled by the chemical effects of his pheromones, all without a defense, still their self-reserve and a small measure of apprehension keep them from jumping him all together like a pack of wolves and instead they form a line behind Magnussen, eagerly waiting for their turn and isn’t it just _terrifying._

All civilized talks and respect thrown out the window and he is suddenly turn into an object of passing lust when only a moment ago, he was the most powerful, influential man in the country they were all afraid of. His heart sinks when Magnussen’s cold, manicured finger rubs his cheek endearingly and he nearly sobs but manages to stop himself.

_Oh, but._

He wants this, needs this to end. And he knows that once a heat has started, there is no turning back. No matter how many suppressants you take right now they won’t stop this madness unless an alpha takes him, here, right now.

But not this Magnussen. He dreads of the consequences that come out of this one grand mistake; a coupling during a heat will nonetheless result in a life-long bond that could be broken off only either by death or _mutual_ agreement but both the legal and psychical process of such breaking of a bond is notoriously difficult and complicated, not to mention  _painful_ as a bond is not meant to be easily broken off with will.

“Now, pet, on your knees.”

It’s infuriating and arousing at the same time; his knees buckle instantly and he nearly throws himself at his feet, but not just yet. Not just yet. Magnussen smirks at his own stubbornness as if he could read his mind now; the inner turmoil between the urge to give in and fight it off. He slowly stretches out a hand down his jaw, cupping it gently just _so_ , whispering something he doesn't understand, something about--

Suddenly Andrea is back in full force with a gun and a handful of his security details in tow, threatening them with a loud shot aimed at the ceiling. And Mycroft opens his eyes as if roughly shaken out of a dream, and takes in a breath. _God_.

Some of them yelp in surprise and some of them silently go back to where they were, reminded of their own place and why they have to fear him in the first place, but Magnussen is still standing in front of him, unruffled and unaffected by the show of violence--maybe he is too far gone now to notice what’s actually going on.

“Sir.”

Andrea, this time gently, puts her hand on the small of his back, and the touch is entirely too hot and warm and he wants to lash out at her, for what, he doesn't know. And Magnussen is still standing there, sweating and breathing through his mouth in a feeble attempt to compose himself and failing, and smirks again in his way, his glassy eyes giving him an unadulterated leer for good measure.

“Maybe next time, Mr Holmes.”

And Andrea is furious, he can tell, but he is too tired and too lust addled to think straight anymore and with a false ease, the security details remove him from the room, followed by the rest of the keyed up alphas until Mycroft is left with a follow feeling and Andrea’s empty promises that everything is going to be alright. Is it? Mycroft wonders and wonders until he is shoved into a safe house to be left alone, until this heat eventually ends, until he is safe from others and himself. Again. 


	2. The Karma

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft thinks, he deserves the consequences.

**2**

 

It is dark outside, a dust of a trail of sunset shimmering along the horizon, when Mycroft finally wakes up and feels like himself again. The heat has lasted five days and during the period he loses his sense of time and nearly forgets who he is in the tight grip of violent lust taking over his mind and body. He has a series of nightmares where he is chased down the corridor by a group of alphas, all hungry and merciless; and among them, there is Magnussen, watching his every step with his calculating eyes and the terrifying, indulgent smile playing along the edges of the thin, harsh line of his lips. He nearly screams in his dream, and then _actually_ screams when he realises that the nightmare is not far from reality, and in dark it is so easy to imagine a tickle of the bead of his own sweat rolling down behind his ear as an uninvited touch from Magnussen. He stops himself from calling Andrea for help with the emergency phone set up in the nearly empty room several times during the first couple of days, but eventually resigns himself to the complete solitude and it becomes a comfort after a while.

There is a reason why he kept the fact that he is an omega as a secret for years now. When he was recruited all those years ago into the Service, they made him swear to never to reveal his secondary gender _or else._ It was a threat veiled in a polite request and all he said was yes sir. As if there was never a choice to make in the first place.

When he goes back to work after the last traces of the head well out of his system, he still feels like he is in trapped in his own body. His mind flying, calculating; everything in front of him laid out plainly for him to parse and read. All he wants to do is carry on as he has always done. But those eyes following him around say he is now only an object of passing curiosity and gossip. He mourns for the loss of the respect and sometimes fears that he readily welcomed or even relished before...the revelation.

His office is now only a few steps away and it certainly feels like he is reliving his nightmare, of being an helpless omega chased by impatient alphas in a confined place, eyes trailing after him, following him until he finally let himself inside and firmly closes the door behind him.

There are piles of reports, luckily for him, to read all day and evening after that. He locks himself up in much the same manner while he endured the agonizing heat alone away from his people. But this time, his mind is clear and rather than doused in mindless and pure lust, it is in pain, raw and shameful. Only the clean jet black letters printed on the white papers keep him grounded like a chain around his throat. But he is more than grateful that he still has this job; his worth is still recognised by his superiors, though with their subtle warning still sharp and heavy in the silence of his own office. He still scribbles down his name unhurriedly though, as if he still owns his dignity, that last trace of his false identity and façade he kept so close around him until he almost believed it himself, is still there, protecting him from the world of pre-conceptions of gender and its rigidity. 

What he _still has_ a people to keep in the dark, outside of the tight inner circle, who are privy to the true position of him. That includes Sherlock’s associates, of course: John Watson. Mrs Hudson. Ms Hooper. Mike Stamford. And… the list goes on until he gingerly reaches one name in his mind.

‘less dull than the rest of the lot’ is how Sherlock describes him, and that’s how Mycroft sees him as, for the better half of their association. They pass by with a barely-there nod in each other’s direction as an acknowledgement, and out of courtesy and not more than that, sometimes they have small talk that touch down only on safe subjects, about the part of Sherlock’s life which is already a common knowledge to a certain group tolerating his temper and personality to an extend, or maybe the weather or Mrs Hudson's new menu at the little cafe or a recent domestic between Sherlock and John and… but those stilled conversations are the ones he cherishes the most. Because they don’t concern any of the mind numbing, hours-long negotiations, jumbled greetings in foreign languages, forced laughs with a striking terror barely hidden, hushed whispers about this and that that don’t matter in the end because the answer is already made a long time ago the question even formed, and he knows he just needs to pretend. As he has always had for all his life. And when he is standing in front of this Inspector – Gregory Lestrade – he’s himself. There are no titles, pretensions, lies attached between their exchanges. He is a simple man who is concerned about his younger brother and Lestrade treats him just like he does those, _harmless_ elderly ladies concerned about a cracked tile on the kitchen wall. And what’s better, he doesn't know. Lestrade doesn't know what he is doing and _why_ he’s so different and… But he is aware of it, that he doesn't _deserve_ it.

Perhaps this is the karma he has earned himself, for being a lie, a fake, a failure. So Mycroft promises to himself, again, that he has to remain a lie. As he has always been. To the people he tries not to care, but still cares. A safe distance.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Link to the prompt: http://sherlockbbc-fic.livejournal.com/21766.html?thread=130776326#t130776326


End file.
